In Memoriam

Fragments of truth remained suspended in the unmade reality around the portal. It stood eternal, unbothered, and unblemished. Nothing lay at the foot of its swirling, mystical entrance. No sign that anyone or anything had passed through. No hints of struggle or pain. Only milky, unknowable truth hidden just beyond a veil meant to separate that realm from whatever was beyond.

The mouth was gone, and the laughing had stopped.

Strange, gentle yet out-of-tune notes pinged along the distant edges of the world, as though the horizon was a stringed instrument being reharmonized after it had been wounded.

Sol was on his knees, broken and shattered in both mind and spirit.

Relief moved through him as he prayed that it had worked. The cruelty of it all was that he had no way to be sure, other than the hollowed hope that for once, the little ones had been given a break. So much of him was clawing at itself to rush through the veil as well, chasing them into oblivion so that he might be greeted by eternal silence and know that they had succeeded.

But he was also ashamed.

He had upheld his promise and, in doing so, had violated the very foundational makeup of himself. Those burning hands had delivered mortals to their deaths, and that was something he was never meant for. Blasphemic denial flowed through him and mixed with the sorrow he now felt at facing the fact that Dawn, Sayane, and Yumi were likely dead from every form of existence.

So he wept.

He wept for days and weeks and years and centuries, or maybe just a moment.

He wept, and the beast did not return, seemingly vanquished in the assault that had left him cracked and segmented, reduced to something akin to a piece of pottery held together by glowing golden light.

Still, he was relieved as he wept and traced the places in his palms where they had lain.

“Dawn, Sayane, forgive me,” he whimpered.

“Forgive me, beautiful little ones,” he cried as he looked out at the wasteland and empty sky.

Then he heard a grumbling beside him and remembered that he was not alone.

Metus’s remaining mass was groaning in defeat as it bubbled in a puddle of filth and detritus.

After a moment, Sol wiped his eyes and stood. Slow, labored steps dragged his feet towards the parts of the god that remained.

He didn’t know if it was mercy, hate, justice, or judgement that caused him to silently raise his hand, but when he reached the mutated puddle, his palm extended and glowed golden.

Two frightened eyes peered up at him, pleading, but he was unmoved.

There was a rupture, and a blade of light scorched downward, devouring the god and reducing him to nothing more than ash.

Sol frowned, accepting that he was now truly alone. Golden pulses moved through him, and he felt his lingering aliveness with something akin to a conviction of gratitude.

The soul portal hummed its angelic notes as it lit the small area around it with its calming blue.

To Sol, that meant that somewhere out there, others were still alive. All around him, the world was slowly undoing itself, and now that another god was gone, along with the Star Stream, he feared that absolute destruction would eventually come.

If he could spare even one other soul from that, he would.

His massive hands dug underneath the supports of the soul portal, and he cried out in strain as he ripped it from its stony foundation. When it broke away, he breathed in and out for a moment as he stared into its swirling mystery, hoping and praying to whatever had made them all that the three he cared so greatly for were well or nothing at all.

Then he turned and scanned the expanse to map his path. The portal was heavy in his hands, but he did not mind. Bloody steps carried him away from that bridge of light as he began his search for any others who were left.

Stillness surrounded him and held him, and darkness befriended him with an emptiness that was no longer frightening. On and on he walked, carrying the only light in the void.

Once upon a time, he and the others had been called many names by mortals who did not understand what they had formed. Temples had been erected and tended to by faithful who could not grasp that souls needed to nurture every facet of emotion, not just the pleasant ones. Whatever or whoever had been responsible for all of them gave them no guidance, and for so long, all the world, both mortals and gods, existed in bifurcated, selective mistruth. Had they only known and trusted that hardships like fear and grief were as important to life as hope and joy, all of this might have been avoided. 

But it wasn’t, and that was the great tragedy of it all.

- Joyous Ruination: Please hold my beautiful soul in your gentle hands

By

Prufrock